War of Convictions
by neversonbabies
Summary: Two pairs of hands clench their cups, knuckles tense. Neither offers resolve as they are in the middle of a war of convictions. It is pride that keeps them stuck in a stubborn stalemate. Brittana future fic. Alt ending to I Have a Confession to Make.


**Hello lovelies. I wrote this as the original second half to _I Have a Confession to Make_. However, I decided it wasn't fitting and went with the ending that I published earlier. Since I liked where this one was going, I decided to turn it into it's own story. I changed it around a bit so it can be stand alone, but I think you get the idea when comparing it to _Confessions_. Anyway, enjoy!**

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><p>Sunday morning. It's a glorious day to be outside. The sun isn't at it's peak yet, so it isn't too warm, and there is just enough breeze coming off the bay to make the air crisp. People are milling about the city, doing the things they can't do during the rest of the week. Fun things. It's a day to sit back and enjoy. A little bird laps around the trees that he calls home and soars outward toward the rows of aging buildings. They were once parts of a matching development, but time, changing owners, and tastes have left the buildings in an eclectic state of colors and shapes. Some sport their original wood shingles, now gray with age. Others are marked with thick patches of peeling paint, the salt in the air pushing the process faster. There is a feeling of age to the row of homes. Over time they have been split up into smaller homes, each level sectioned off so many people can live in the building at once. Inside, some of the people are sitting down to a late breakfast. Others are still sleeping in. A lot of the homes are empty because the people have realized it's a gorgeous day and have ventured outside to enjoy it. The bird flits past these windows quickly as there is nothing to see. He doesn't notice that not all of them are as empty as they seem.<p>

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><p>Light falls across the kitchen table, refracting through the tall, thin vase closest to the window. A slight breeze wafts through the opened sill, billowing the curtain sheers over two cups of stagnant coffee. Two pairs of hands clench their cups. One pair grasps tightly, knuckles popping and tense. The other pair clicks it's short nails over the face of the cat decorating the ceramic surface. Neither offers resolve as they are in the middle of a war of convictions. It is pride that keeps them stuck in a stubborn stalemate. Neither has spoken a word in the last hour.<p>

The blonde at the table peeks out under dark lowered lashes at the brunette across from her. The brunette is squinting down at the hilly street below. Across from her, a mass of trees blocks the view to the west of the ocean. She wants to get up and breathe in the beauty of the park, it's handsome columns beckoning her to lose track of time for a little while and calm down. They could both use a short break apart. Getting up, though, is like giving up. She isn't giving up on this argument yet. It's too big to ignore or pretend to not be happening. So she continues to sit, brooding into the cold, filmy liquid in her cup. The blonde sees that they aren't getting anywhere and caves first, clearing her throat. The brunette sighs and tears her eyes away from all the things she is trying to distract herself with. She looks up to meet the gaze of a pair of startling blue eyes.

"Just tell me why, again?"

"Because, Britt, I'm not doing it half-assed. It's all or nothing."

"But it _is_ everything. It can be everything if we let it."

"No. I told myself I wouldn't ever do this until it's one-hundred percent real. Right now it's not."

"It would be for us, though. Do this? For me?"

"I am not going to be your sort-of wife. I either am or I'm not. Right now, in this state, I can't be no matter how much I want it. I'm not doing it until there is no question that I am legally your _spouse_. "

"Does a title have to make such a difference?"

"YES! I want to be your _wife,_ Brittany, not your _partner_. What does that even mean? Partner. God, just hearing it makes me want to scream. This is not Jim Crowe, Alabama. I have no idea why people still settle for separate but equal. Just…no."

"I just want to marry you, Santana. With or without city hall's approval."

"Babe, I want to marry you too. _For real_. Not at some ceremony that doesn't legally stand for anything!"

Santana slams her hand down on the table, rocking the spoons in the cups. They clatter anxiously and send ripples across the shiny, cold surface of the coffee. Brittany watches all of this with a grimace. When the vase her mother gave her teeters dangerously she glares.

"You don't need to break things to make your point."

"I didn't break anything!"

"Yet."

"It's been a long time since then. I'm pretty sure I can control myself, thank you very much." Santana used to be the kind of girl that threw things when she got mad. _Used to_. As in not anymore. She's grown up a bit since she was sixteen.

"I want this, Santana. I want a wedding and I want everyone to see us promise ourselves to each other. I want to show them that we're serious about this. About each other."

"I'm pretty sure they already get that. We've been together for years."

"Off and on" Brittany mutters.

"Okay, so I had some issues in the beginning. I was a teenager! Christ, of course I had trouble coming out."

"Yeah, I think I remember that" Brittany replies, hiding the smile playing at her lips. She can't help it. "…pressed lemon" she mutters quietly.

"THE POINT IS" Santana continues, ignoring the embarrassing things she knows Brittany is remembering, "that we got through it _together_. And we're _still_ together. We have been for a decade, now. Come on. We came to California together and now we have a home here. I think everyone that knows us knows that we're serious about 'us'."

"It's not the same." Brittany pushes back her chair and brings a knee to her chest. Her muscular calf flexes as she pulls her leg closer. Santana sees this and bites the inside of her cheek. Brittany still does things to her. Sometimes it's like being a kid again and wanting to jump her a the most inappropriate times. Santana can almost feel her fingers dipping inside the red cheer skirts they wore and fucking her in an empty classroom while their friends are at lunch. It was so glorious. Santana clenches her thighs together and shifts in her seat. She _really_ needs to get up and walk off how easily Brittany turns her on. She stands abruptly, startling Brittany. Her yoga pants sit low on her hips, revealing the tattoo she got on her hip when she turned eighteen. It is of a little bee buzzing through the air. Bee. Santana's cutesie nickname for Brittany. The impulsive act now brings a flush to her face when she thinks about it, but the sight of the bee always makes Brittany smile. At least usually. Today, though, she looks up in worry. They hardly ever walk away from each other in the middle of an argument. Brittany half stands and reaches for her girlfriend.

"Hey!" she cries helplessly.

"I'm not leaving." Santana bends and picks up the abandoned coffee cups. "I'm just pouring these out." The Latina quietly walks to the sink and rinses out the cups. Brittany looks down at her long basketball shorts and picks at the tiny spot of paint staining the otherwise pristine black. It's from when they'd decided the living room needed to turn sage green. "They" being Santana during her yoga kick that she dropped soon after. The green, though, has remained because both women find it soothing. Santana pads back and plops into her chair again. She sighs. At least she's calmed herself a bit. "Bee, it means something to me that our marriage be legally recognized as a _marriage_, not a domestic partnership. It's what I stand for, you know that." Santana's a lawyer now. She passed her first bar exam last year and now practices civil rights law in Oakland. She is currently with a firm that caters to gay rights cases. She's young and shows a lot of promise for her future. At least, that's what her bosses say.

"I get that, Santana, but get me. I want a wedding, just like every other couple has. I am not going to deny myself that just because I'm in love with a woman. If our gay friends are having ceremonies, why can't we? I want us to have bands on our hands that are blessed and I want everyone that we love watch us give them to each other. I just really want this, Santana."

"A ring? You want a ring? I will go out and find you the most beautiful ring and I will put it on your hand. Today. Right now."

"It's not about the fucking ring!" Santana sinks into her chair. Brittany only curses when she's _really_ riled up. "God! Don't you get it? A gay wedding isn't just a wedding! It's _so_ much more! Yes, it represents love and respect, but it also stands for a refusal to accept what is 'normal.' What does it say when a lawyer fighting for civil rights cannot legally marry her girlfriend of _ten years_ because, let's be honest, a bunch of men say it's not allowed? What does that say?"

"It says there is a long way to go still. It also says that we cannot have the best. I do not settle for anything but the best."

"Will you stop being so fucking _selfish_?"

"Excuse me?" Santana cries, sitting up and forward.

"You heard me just fine" Brittany dares, arms crossing in defiance.

"_You_ don't find it selfish to force me to do something I have reasons for not wanting to do?"

"Maybe, but it's just as bad to deny me something I've wanted since I was _two_."

"With a BOY!"

"Before, yeah. But then I met you and I fought for you against all the people back home that hated us. I liked you the moment I saw you, I loved you the moment I kissed you. It has always been you! I have moved over and over all over this country for you!"

"Hey! You wanted to go to LA as badly as I did! You were the one that told me you wished you could move to California and give dancing professionally a try. It just made sense for us to both come here together, you wanting to go to a dance academy and me interested in pre-law. The schools down there were outstanding for both of us. Win-win."

"Yeah, but then you transferred to Berkeley. What in the world was I supposed to do up there, huh?"

"You didn't have to come!" Santana begins to yell, feeling cornered. They don't bring this up much because it only manages to make Santana feel guilty, even when that's not Brittany's purpose.

"Of course I had to come with you! I was in love with you! What was I supposed to do without you?" Both women draw quiet at the intensity of Brittany's words. It's true. By then they'd grown so entwined that there was no way to let each other go. When Santana received the chance to transfer to one of the best schools in the country she'd jumped on it. Brittany had come with her, leaving the academy she'd loved only to enroll in another up north that didn't feel the same. She'd done it for them, though. Sometimes sacrifice is necessary for the greater scope of things. She knows that now. Then, though, she'd been secretly bitter. Los Angeles was where she needed to be if she wanted to get noticed. She's found her own niche since then, running her own studio in the City. It isn't the fame or the money she'd had her sight set on, but there's a calm, peacefulness to her life that she wouldn't have had before.

"Well we're doing great in San Francisco now, aren't we? This city has been amazing to us." Santana amends, trying to get them away from the tricky subject of how they ended up in Northern California.

"…we do fit here really well."

"Yeah, and the gay community here is so great."

"It really is…and they have weddings _ALL THE TIME_!"

Santana clenches her teeth in a bid to push away her irritation. "Jesus fucking Christ we were _so_ close to being over this!"

"It isn't over until someone gets her way…this isn't going to work out, I can already tell."

"What are you saying, Britt?"

Brittany chews her lip in contemplation. "I don't know, but I can't keep doing this if nothing is getting better. We've been trying to work this out for months now, but all we end up doing is fighting. I'm sick and tired of fighting for something that you aren't going to do. I can't make you marry me, Santana, but I also can't keep pretending that I'm okay with that. I can't deal with the fighting anymore. I just can't do it."

Santana stares in silent horror, heart racing. She should probably pop a pill, but she's frozen in her seat. Brittany keeps picking at her shorts – Pick. Pick. Pick. Pick. – until she snags the knit and pulls a thread out accidentally. She wipes uselessly at the marred fabric. Santana hasn't cried in a really long time and she's come to the realization that she's far overdue. The Latina bolts up from the table, her chair toppling in a loud, jarring clatter. Brittany jumps.

"You're such a _bitch_." Santana hisses, wiping at the tears starting to fall from the pools in her eyes. "You can't just leave because we don't agree on one thing!"

Brittany stands too, eyebrows furrowed. What does she mean, leave? "Santana, I-" Brittany reaches to touch her lover's damp cheek.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Santana storms away and slams into their bedroom, kicking the door shut with a bang. She dives into their bedding and makes a nest under the plush duvet. Maybe she can just hide forever instead. She shoves a pillow into her mouth and muffles a frustrated cry.

In response, Brittany cleans the kitchen. It's what she does when she's stressed. Cleaning. There's something so calming in seeing progress actually being made. As she works her way across the counters she can literally see the impact she's making. It helps her deal with Santana a little. Progress. Her girlfriend needs time to calm down before Brittany goes in there to talk to her again. The Blonde knows that. Still, she saw the hurt in Santana's face and it kills her to know that her soulmate is crying. The worst thing to do would be to go in there right away when neither woman has calmed down enough. But Santana is _crying_. A war wages in Brittany's head. She should check…. Brittany cleans her way towards the bedroom. There is no sound coming from within, but that is not necessarily a good thing. She goes to the bathroom and comes back with an orange pill bottle. She peeks her head inside.

"Honey? Are you okay?"

"No, Brittany! I am not okay!"

"Do you need one of these?" Brittany rattles the bottle so Santana can hear it with her head half buried.

"Don't fucking mock me. My anxiety has gotten a lot better now that I'm done with school."

"I know that" Brittany says defensively. "I'm serious. Do you need one? I don't want you to pass out under there. I'm afraid you'll suffocate."

Santana is quiet for a while as she thinks about it. A small voice replies a little later. "I don't think I need one anymore. It feels like it passed alright."

"Baby, are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Can I come in now?"

"No" Santana snaps, her voice hard again.

Brittany sighs. She shouldn't have to ask at all, but it is a system that works for them. Forcing Santana to talk when she isn't ready only makes her lash out. She's been that way for as long as Brittany has known her. It's easier to ask her if she is ready first. That way she doesn't snap or yell. It makes Santana feel less pressure in the process, too. Law School had gotten to Santana pretty bad and she'd almost quit twice out of anxiety and frustration. She truly is doing a lot better now that she has graduated and passed the bar. Moving on and finding a place with a firm has helped to prove that she isn't horrible at what she loves to do.

"I'll check on you in a little while" Brittany tells her, disapproval written all over her face.

"Whatever. Go away."

Brittany rolls her eyes but obeys. Sometimes the bitchy, teenaged Santana rears her head. "Whatever"? She hardly ever speaks like that anymore. Brittany cleans her way to their little living room and pushes the curtains all the way open and cracks the windows to let in the air. The apartment is fairly old, but it is right by Golden Gate Park. On all sides of the park San Francisco sprawls out. To one side is the ocean, to the other are the rolling hills of homes the city is known for. Brittany can smell the eucalyptus trees along the edge of the park from the widow. God, the scent of the air is so refreshing. They should go for a walk to clear their heads. It would be good to leave the house for a while. They could even visit the fine arts museum inside that Santana loves so much. Brittany thinks her girlfriend enjoys the life in the color and lines. She's watched Santana sit mesmerized for hours in front of the paintings and soak them in. There is a yearning in her eyes when she's there that Brittany doesn't quite understand. All she knows is that Santana is completely at ease when she's looking at the swirling gestures full of emotion.

The Blonde turns back to the quiet of the room and moves on to the clutter on the black wooden coffee table. Junk litters the top. Fast food napkins, crumbs, receipts, an entire plethora of _stuff_. She shoves all the garbage into a plastic bag that crinkles loudly as she moves about the room. It's too quiet. She goes to the receiver under the TV and dials it over to the auxiliary setting. Santana's iPod is already docked and plugged in. Brittany chooses a calm looking playlist and goes about organizing their home.

It starts with Adele. Santana has always loved Adele. She still sings around the house, even now after their days in a high school glee club are long over. Brittany has never been a strong singer, her point in the club was always to be the dancer. Santana, though, is terrific. They joke about American Idol a lot because Santana is technically just young enough to still audition. Every year they come to the City to find people, it would be so convenient. Santana never bites, though. She just laughs off the silly idea and kisses Brittany into forgetting about all about it. Brittany is perfectly fine with that. Back in high school some of the girls in Glee Club tried out for the show. None of them even made it past the first round. Not even Rachel. Then again, American Idol isn't partial to operatic Broadway shows so much. That reminds her…she needs to call Rachel back. The Brunette with the big voice is in New York now and knows a guy who needs help choreographing a hip-hop based show. Rachel recommended Brittany on the spot. It's funny that Rachel Berry is the only kid from high school that Brittany speaks to anymore. Santana still has Puck while Brittany has Rachel. That's it.

The short series of Adele ends and morphs into Duffy. It seems Santana was in a soulful mood when she made the playlist. Brittany goes to the iPod and checks the track list. She smiles. Of course Amy Winehouse is included. Santana and her love for Amy Winehouse…

Brittany knows now that Valerie was for her. A woman singing about wanting another woman? How had it not been obvious? It's so obvious now. Back then, though, Santana was buried deep in the back of the closet. She'd been one long crazy train of denial, running over anything that threatened to derail her. Brittany isn't a fan of thinking about those days. It's too angsty for her tastes. She prefers to remember back to when they finally got together. Then, they were two naïve girls walking around school hand-in-hand, showing people that they loved each other. Their bubble, though, hadn't been enough to keep out all the hate. True, their popularity made it easier, but their conservative world made it difficult to be fully accepted. Popularity didn't stop the occasional asshole from yelling "dykes!" from across the street or room. That was a big reason for leaving Ohio for California. They could exist happily in the Land of Gays. They have done so for a decade now.

Right now Brittany cannot reason why they had to get into a fight about marriage again. There's no rush and everyone can taste a repeal on the tips of their tongues. She's sure she can hold out, but she doesn't see the need. She just wants to make up with her girlfriend already. Their fights are always so calm. That is what scares her. She can never tell how bad the argument is getting because Santana tries so hard to not yell at her. Brittany isn't positive as to why. Maybe out of respect? Santana yelled a lot when they were younger and maybe this is her way of showing that she's changed. It doesn't really matter considering Santana is always the one that cries first, anyway. She's the one that runs on emotion more.

Brittany settles into the couch and lets her head fall back onto the top of the backrest. Now she just feels mopey and sorry. She shouldn't try to guilt Santana into a wedding. Her convictions are understandable. Brittany just wishes their convictions reflected each other's more. From her seat she hears Santana grumpily shuffle to the bathroom and shuffle back. When she looks, Santana is with a new roll of toilet paper. She must have run out of the Kleenex. Well, if she's up, that means the worst has passed. Brittany can try to talk to her again. She waits a few beats for the door to click closed and Santana to settle back in before getting up. For good measure she changes the track back to the length of Amy Winehouse.

This time she says nothing as she enters the room. Santana's tiny frame is buried under the blankets again. It reminds Brittany of a cocoon that can protect the woman from the world. Without asking she climbs under the blanket behind her lover and wraps her arms and legs around her. Brittany isn't fought off or chastised.

"Can we stop fighting now?" Brittany whispers, kissing the back of Santana's neck. Santana presses deeper into Brittany's hold.

"Don't leave me" is all she says.

"I'm right here. I didn't leave."

"I mean ever. Don't ever leave me. We both know I'm weaker than you. I need you."

"What are you talking about, Ms. Lawyer? You are the braver one, the louder one, the stronger one."

"Are you calling me butch?"

Brittany laughs. "Honey…you are about as soft as butter. Especially when it comes to feelings. You're just…more extreme in everything compared to me."

Santana takes one of Brittany's hands and brings it to her lips. "We can apply for a partnership. I'll do a ceremony for you, if that's what you really want."

"Are you saying that because you thought I was going to break up with you?" Santana tenses and says nothing. "You didn't say never, you said not yet. We can wait. It's okay."

"Really?" Santana sniffles, still nasal. "When we get married I want it to mean more than what it means if we get married now. I want it to mean everything, like it does for straight people."

"I know."

"We can start wearing rings if you want. Like, engagement rings."

Brittany smiles and kisses Santana's neck again. "You know, we've talked a lot about weddings when neither of us actually got around to proposing."

Santana wiggles under the covers so she is face to face with Brittany. She can just make out her face with the light showing through the covers. "You're right, aren't you? We just started talking about it one day. I guess we both knew we were ready?"

"I guess so."

"That's so weird, I-"

"Ask me."

"Wha…are you serious?"

"Yes. Ask me. One of us needs to ask. I think you should do it."

"Well, why can't you do it?" Brittany sighs.

"Nevermind. The moment's passed." Brittany pretends to get up, but Santana reaches out to stop her. Still under the covers, Santana draws closer and places a soft kiss on Brittany's lips. Then another, and another, until they form a chain of sweet, gentle embraces. They are slow and chaste, but adorable. Each woman takes a turn trailing kisses over the other's face. Brittany kisses away the tears from Santana's eyes, the pink from her cheeks, and the quivering chin until before her is the woman she loves. Santana kisses away the frustration from Brittany's forehead, the guilt in her eyes, and returns to grinning lips.

"Marry me?" she whispers against Brittany's lips. "Marry me, Britt."

They kiss over and over again, entwining their legs and arms until they are touching everywhere. All Santana can breathe is Brittany and she is perfectly content in that. Brittany smiles into a kiss. "Let me say yes already."

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><p>Later that evening a little bird flits through the air, taking in the quiet of the park. He flies from tree branch to tree branch, soaring in the cool night air. Below him a few people remain, happily making their way home. A pair of children scream in delight, chasing one another across the large expanses of grass as their parents follow behind, hands linked. The pitch of their cries startles the bird and sends him once more into the darkening sky.<p>

He decides to make a loop around his part of the park and then return. Hopefully by then the children and their piercing cries will be gone. As he nears the boarders of the park the bird chooses to loop out even further and peek in on the people living in their funny little houses. Most of them are home now after a day spent outdoors. They are settling in for the evening and preparing for a week of work.

In one window he spots a family congregating around a plastic box that sports moving pictures. The bird pauses on their window sill to watch. There are other, smaller people inside the plastic box. They are on horseback and racing through a dry, dusty landscape. Occasionally they point strange, metal objects at one another that explode with loud, crashing booms. The bird finds the sounds and sights jarring, not at all matching with the day he's had, and moves on quickly. The people in the window are so absorbed in the scene unfolding in the plastic box that the never even notice he was there.

The bird is curving around to head back home when another window catches his attention. He floats back to get a better look. Inside, two women are swaying back and forth, their bodies pulled tightly together. The darker one has her hand resting on the fairer one's waist. Her other hand is clasped tightly in the Blonde's. The Blonde's left hand is resting gently on the Brunette's shoulder. Both women are wearing shining bands of metal on their fingers. The bands are so brilliant in the light that the bird can't help but be mesmerized. The fact that they keep playing with them, twisting them around their fingers, says that they're new.

Together they continue to sway to the slow, melodious music inside their house. The bird wants to sing along with the song and be a part of the beauty, but the women would never be able to hear him through the glass. He perches quietly in the tree across from their window instead.

He watches in wonder as the women continue to slowly spin in circles, utterly content in the peace they find in each other. The Blonde sighs comfortably and rests her head on the Brunette's shoulder, their faces practically touching. The Brunette tilts her head until they do. They both smile at the contact and the Blonde says something that the bird cannot hear. Whatever it is, it makes the Brunette smile and twist so she can press her lips to the Blonde's temple.

The bird lets out a little tweet in happiness. Even a bird can see how precious they are. In a moment the Blonde's mouth is placing small kisses all along the Brunette's neck, making the darker one giggle. When the Blonde responds with words, a wicked grin decorating her face, the Brunette laughs outright. She allows her partner to tug at her shirt until it is tossed aside. The Brunette is still giggling as the Blonde moves to kiss her collar bone.

The bird knows that this is an intimate moment, private for just the two women, and stretches his wings to leave them be. In the back of his mind he wishes them happiness and warmth. Love is such a wondrous thing. It makes everything happier and brighter. It even makes his song more uplifting. He lets out a short, sweet send off as he disappears once again into the night, leaving the lovers alone in the privacy of their home to enjoy their time together.

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><p><strong>FLUFF! I love fluff! Okay, so it's not ALL fluff, but still. <strong>**I don't know. I think I was inspired while talking about the Pride Parade in SF that's later this month. What would it mean to plop the girls into one of the biggest gay populations in the country? Then I thought about what it means that California of all places still doesn't allow gay marriage. And with hinting that Santana is a gay rights lawyer in _Confessions,_ my story changed. I like it. I like that it shows that the girls, especially Santana, will grow up and change. I think her struggle and concern with her sexuality in the show now will lead her towards a more proactive life later. I can totally see it. I can see her growing up and not wanting girls to be so afraid. I can see her being pissed off over bigotry. I can see her needing to get away from that mindset. Okay, I'm rambling. Sorry.**


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